


Antecedent

by padalekci



Series: Occurrences [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Based on True Events, bitch i'm depressed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 21:46:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18507709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padalekci/pseuds/padalekci
Summary: based on true events.





	Antecedent

We’d been planning this for months.

It was always the same. Our spring break was the only time we’d be away from the eyes of the small town we lived in; free to do whatever the fuck we wanted out in the middle of nowhere. No girlfriends nagging, no boyfriends starting fights. We were alone with our friends and we were only there to have fun.

This was the last spring break before we graduated highschool and moved on with our lives, probably to never have the same schedules again. We’d be actual adults. With jobs and college degrees to worry about.

It’s strange, thinking back to the way I was before the accident. I was shy, the opposite of outgoing.

A coward.

No one should ever have to grow that much in such a short span of time. We all changed after that phone call-after seeing our best friend sprawled out, not moving.

 

We were talking about it nonstop, months before the trip. We started preparing in January, making sure to tell our teachers that we’d be gone, and that if they had a problem with it they could fuck off, because we were going whether they liked it or not.

“Did they leave you behind? I thought you were leaving today”

I remember my math teacher asking me that when I walked into class on the day we were due to leave. I told her I didn’t want as much homework and we weren’t leaving until later in the day. She’d just nodded and went on with the lesson, giving me extra printouts of the homework so I could give them to my friends when I made it up to my cousin’s house, where we were meeting.

It was a shitshow trying to drive to Idaho that day. It’d been starting to snow when we left town, but we figured it’d die down once we got a few hours away.

We were wrong.

I remember driving 35 on the highway, terrified because I’d just bought a brand new truck not even a week before, and I wasn’t used to driving it just yet. It was a hell of a lot lighter than what I had before, and the wind kept pushing me farther off the road.

Looking back, maybe that was a sign.

We got to the town a few hours later, most of the snow disappearing after we crossed the stateline. We were all insanely excited, since this was our playground. Miles of sand and like-minded people. I remember taking a few jello shots, but not enough to get drunk.

Because I don’t get drunk.

I’d helped make the shots and figured I’d see what the hype was about. I still don’t get it.

We played king’s cup around the fire, being loud and teasing each other. I remember being dared to kiss one of the others-a kid that I’d only met once before. He didn’t go to our school, and the only reason we knew him was because he hung out with my other cousin, who didn’t go on the trip. I still don’t know how _they_ met.

I kissed him on the cheek and he called me his girlfriend for the rest of the weekend. Sending me drunk texts when we went to bed-in separate trailers. I still don’t get it.

The rides were unremarkable. The true entertainment came from my friends’ drunk shenanigans. Streaking through the campsite (which was occupied with other people), trying to jump over an irrigation ditch and just ending up in the middle of it, making friends with the others that were camping in the area.

We made trips into town for replacement parts a few times, having lost a few gas caps and popping tires on the lava rocks. And of course, for more beer, that I refused to drink.

I remember the neighbors we made friends with would be alright at first, but as they got drunker, they’d get more brave, eventually walking right into our trailer, where we were staying.

“Hey, that looks like my cigar case” He’d pointed at my camera case, covered in stickers that I’d put on it. There was no way in hell it looked the same as his.

“That’s a camera” my friend told him. We both knew what the guy was insinuating-that we’d stole his shit and put it in plain sight in our trailer that he wasn’t supposed to be in in the first place. We kicked him out shortly after that-nicely, as to not start any problems. Told him we were going to bed and partied quietly for the rest of the night.

We offered the other neighbors jello shots, which they took, and our friend had a brief love affair with their dog-Buttercup.

The third day came ‘round and some Canadians were assigned the camping spot next to us. They seemed nice enough, but we didn’t see them often.

It wasn’t until they came back from a ride late in the day and we apologized for borrowing one of their chairs that we actually talked to them. They were nice, held the same interests, and we talked about how we wanted to ride in Whistler-which they were familiar with. The third day was when my cousin blew his bike up-irreparable damage to the motor, so he offered it to them as a joke while we were all talking. We didn’t think they’d actually buy it for four grand, but they had the cash the next day.

They made Macaroni and Cheese with beer instead of milk, which turned out to be alright-even though I had to take someone else’s word for it.

 

See, I don’t really remember much from this trip, mostly because looking back, these things weren’t important. It wasn’t important that my cousin and I ate whole tomatoes like apples at three in the morning, or that we watched 50 first dates three times in a row.

What I do remember, is going out at sundown, for pictures. I was the one with the good camera, and it’d become a tradition-taking pictures at sundown on the last day of riding. We wanted something to remember.

 

We weren’t out for long, since some of them were having trouble with their bikes and we didn’t even have everyone out there. A group picture wasn’t a group picture if we didn’t have everyone.

It’s funny, knowing that the last picture I took on that trip was of my best friend walking. Something he’ll mostly likely never do again.

Creed has always been a character. It was only fitting that the last thing he did was flirt with girls and leave them with his number before destroying his life. They were out there taking senior pictures, so Creed swooped in and left his number, telling them if they were ever up for a quick fuck, he was their guy. He’s always been confident.

We were driving back, blaring music, laughing at Creed’s boldness when we saw them.

Sprawled out in the sand a few hundred yards in front of us was Creed, a set of side by sides a few feet away, the owners just standing there, talking to Ben, who was standing with his arms crossed.

I remember my cousin saying ‘oh no’ and I said ‘what the fuck’ even though I meant to ask if she thought they hit Creed.

We were out of our side by side in seconds, running towards the others, asking what the fuck happened.

“Don’t touch ‘im” said one of the old men with the side by side.

We called for help after Creed told us he couldn’t move. Couldn’t feel his legs.

My uncle drove his truck out on the sand, about to drive Creed into town-to the hospital, but we called 911 instead. If Creed couldn’t feel his legs, we knew something was wrong.

The ambulance showed up, looked at him, called the sheriff, and went about stabilizing Creed. A c-collar and all kind of monitors ended up on him, and we just held his hands while we called his dad, who didn’t answer. We called his almost step-mom, and she answered. We talked about what happened, and Creed wasn’t freaking out-wasn’t trying to move. We’d been in this position before; wrecks that required going to the hospital and staying calm. But they were never this bad. There was no blood, but we knew. 

The paramedic radioed for a helicopter, which we were all kind of mad about.

“Ten grand right there” Creed had said.

We were too worried to laugh.

 

It happened in under half an hour. The helicopter showed up, loaded Creed up, and then he was gone.

We went back to camp, talking through the pros and cons of going to the hospital. We decided against it after figuring they’d airlift him to another hospital. One that was better equipped.

The group of us sat in the trailer, not talking, not crying. Just waiting.

We’d gotten a hold of Creed’s father, who was loaded up into his car a few minutes after he ended the call. We were just waiting to hear back from him, because we couldn’t get anything out of the hospital now. We weren’t family-on paper anyway.

It was dead silent when the phone rang and his name showed on the caller I.D.

“They’re saying he’s not gonna walk again”

That sentence was burned into my mind. You should never hear a grown man’s voice _that_ twisted with emotion. Never hear a man tell you that his son is never going to walk again. You should never feel the guilt that I felt, after realizing it could have been any of us.  Never feel sheer hatred for someone else after they’ve said something like ‘hey, at least it wasn’t us’.

I’d never punched anyone out of anger like that before, but I won’t lie and tell you how it felt. Because it didn’t feel like anything.

My best friend was never going to walk again. The kid that I’ve known since first grade. The man that I’d grown to care deeply for. The confident guy that made everyone feel welcome in the world after a conversation.

It was never going to be the same. It didn’t even feel like it was real. Even after the phone call, I didn’t believe it, even though I kept telling myself everything’d be different now. It just wouldn’t sink in that this was actually happening. I knew, logically, that the chances of him walking away were slim. But I refused to believe anything until Creed was out of surgery and home.

Whatever that entailed.

 

We stayed in the trailer. Not talking. Not doing anything. I remember my aunt calling to see what time we’d be home. I can remember her shrill voice and the sobs on the other end of the line when we told her what happened. I can still remember feeling a dull sense of relief when my cousin hung up on her-we didn’t need any more reason to feel like shit, and her crying only made us feel worse.

“You okay?” Ben had asked. He saw that I was crying. I told him I was fine, and then we all went to bed. We’d have to drive back in the morning.


End file.
